


Beyond the Sunset Isles

by Isis



Category: Brandy (You're a Fine Girl) - Looking Glass (Song)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, POV Outsider, Sailing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24313144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: “They say,” said Denny, “that once every two hundred years, the Stormwall breaks apart, and a passage opens to the sea beyond.”
Relationships: Brandy/The Man That Brandy Loved
Comments: 12
Kudos: 13
Collections: Jukebox 2020





	Beyond the Sunset Isles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertVixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/gifts).



The _Perseverance_ was still five days out of Westport when Ned saw his first westerstorm. The sight of it, far in the distance as it was, caused him to gasp and nearly drop the line he was coiling. 

“Takes your breath away, don’t it, lad?” said Mr. Hasling. As the _Perseverance’s_ first mate, he had in his charge the less-experienced of the crew, among whom Ned, as a newly-rated able seaman on his first voyage to the Sunset Isles, was the very least. “Now you see why we take no ordinaries on the Westport runs.”

Ned nodded, unable to take his eyes from the whirling mass of purple cloud. He’d wanted to see the Sunset Isles since he was a lad. He’d grown up in a mainland town, far from the archipelago, but one day he’d seen a shining translucent bit of purple-blue in the display window of the curio shop, and been transfixed. It was the first time he’d encountered westerglass, that rare substance that was found nowhere but on the far western beaches of the Sunset Isles. After that, he could think of nothing else but becoming a sailor. 

The masters of the ships that plied the archipelago had made it clear to him, though, that they hired no green hands. He’d resentfully put his time in on the mainland coasters, two years of dull cargo and even duller scenery, and as soon as he’d qualified he’d gone straight to the first archipelago ship that was hiring.

But now he understood. He’d heard the stories, but seeing a westerstorm with his own eyes was different. The gray clouds and the gusting winds of ordinary sea storms occasionally spawned waterspouts, which were scary enough; the westerstorm looked like a waterspout that had spun off on its own and grown ten times larger, crackling with lightning, whipping the nearby water to a white froth. Fortunately the waves reaching the _Perseverance_ were small and disordered, but having heard stories about the massive waves that could build in the wake of a westerstorm, Ned hoped it would keep its distance.

As he went about his duties, he kept an eye on the thing. It moved a little closer, then farther away, sometimes moving with the wind, sometimes – oddly – seeming to move straight into the wind. Then, with no warning, about an hour after their first sighting, it dissipated into mist and then nothingness. 

“Strange to see a westerstorm this far from the ‘wall,” mused Denny as they sat at mess that evening. Denny had been to Westport and back at least three dozen times, and Ned idolized the old sailor. “I wonder if the stories are true?”

“What stories?” asked Ned, shoveling the ship’s stew into his mouth. 

“They say,” said Denny, “that once every two hundred years, the Stormwall breaks apart, and a passage opens to the sea beyond. Some say it lasts one day, others claim it stays open for a week, or even for a month – you know how stories go, a nut of truth and a lot of fancy. But could be the wall’s spinning off more westerstorms because it’s getting ready to do something. Might be a sign.”

Ned drew in his breath. He’d been aching to see the Stormwall ever since he’d first heard of the uncanny barrier that spanned the ocean from north to south. A barrier so long that nobody had ever found the ends of it; a barrier so dangerous that no man had ever passed through and come back to tell the tale. If it were to break apart while they were near, that would be an even stranger and more wonderful thing than merely seeing it – imagine, if such a passage occurred while they were in Westport! What might be on the other side? Would the captain take the _Perseverance_ through? The thought was both terrifying and dizzyingly exciting.

“But it could be just that westerstorm felt like exploring,” continued Denny. “Those things have their own minds.”

Ned felt his heart give a strange sort of lurch in his chest. “They’re alive?”

Denny chuckled. “Lord, I hope not! Though that would make a fine story to scare the lubbers with. No, when we get to Westport, you’ll see what I mean.”

The next three days, the skies were quiet, as the _Perseverance_ tacked into the westerly wind. They stopped at Copper Bay to unload some cargo and take on mail, but it was a small harbor on a lightly-inhabited island, and they left the docks after only a few hours, heading into the setting sun. Ned slept uneasily during his off-watch, as the seas were getting higher, and when he went out on deck in the early morning there were two westerstorms in the near distance, moving around each other as though they were going through the patterns of a slow, stately dance. As he went through his duties he watched them when he could, as did the other sailors. Around midday, one spun off to the south, and the other started moving toward their ship – then vanished, dissipating before their eyes.

Before the sun set that evening under a cloudy sky, Ned thought he could see the Stormwall in the distance, and in the morning when he woke he rushed onto the deck. Yes, there it was, though still a long way off: a cloud that billowed from the waves below up to the overcast sky above, stretching to the horizon on both sides, as far as he could see. And there, between the _Perseverance_ and the distant wall of cloud, were the green hills of Westerland, the farthest island of the archipelago, a scant three miles from the barrier of cloud.

The ship was on a southerly tack, and the green hills receded through the morning until they wore ship and headed for Westport. As they drew closer, Ned saw masts, hundreds of them. There must have been a dozen ships at the docks, and at least twice that many at anchor, all bringing the supplies that Westerland could not make for itself, all filled with sailors hoping to bring away a fortune in westerglass. 

The town itself spread across the hills surrounding the bay, though it was by no means as large as most of the eastern harbor towns. Ned supposed it was because of the hardships of living out here, not just the westerstorms but the remoteness from anywhere civilized. Yet as they sailed slowly into the bay, it seemed like any harbor town he’d seen anywhere, with houses and shops and taverns, and people on the streets going about their business. 

The work of unloading was the same as in any harbor, and it took the entire afternoon. Then they anchored the _Perseverance_ in the bay, to free the dock for the next ship that needed to load or unload. The captain gave them their liberty, and Ned followed Denny to one of the Westport taverns.

It wasn’t the biggest tavern in town, nor was it the closest to the harbor. It sat a little ways up the hill, reached by a narrow staircase cut into the rock. A wooden sign hung above the door, showing a dark-haired girl gazing into a mirror and combing her hair. “The Looking Glass,” said Denny, as he pushed open the door. “Best view of the ‘wall and the best whiskey in Westport. The prettiest barmaids, too.”

Ned couldn’t argue with the first, at least. They sat at a table by one of the large windows that looked out on the harbor, and the sight of the Stormwall looming beyond the anchored ships took his breath away. He’d been so busy with the work of bringing in the _Perseverance_ , and then unloading their cargo, that he’d had no time to do more than spare a glance in its direction. Now he stared at the flashes of light that sparked along its length, the churning water at its base. As he watched, a westerstorm detached itself from the mass of cloud and began spinning ominously toward Westport – then it reversed itself and merged back into the Stormwall. 

“Brandy!” called Denny. He waved toward the bar.

“I thought you said it was whiskey that they have the best of,” said Ned.

“They do. But Brandy’s the prettiest barmaid.”

A woman hurried over to their table, and Denny had been right about that as well. Slender and shapely, with dark hair in a long braid, and eyes as blue as the sky on a cloudless day. She wasn’t young, exactly, but she wasn’t old, either, though Ned guessed she was older than he was by four or five years.

But despite her beauty, the thing that drew his eye most was the carved bit of westerglass that she wore on a braided silver chain around her neck. It was like no westerglass he’d seen before; its edges were almost faceted, rather than softly curved, and instead of a rough translucence it shone with a bright near-transparency. The deep purple-blue was unmistakable, though, as was the innate glow that no other substance could imitate. On its surface was an odd pattern etched in bright silver that matched the chain. It looked almost like script, though it was no writing Ned knew.

She must have noticed that he was staring, for her fingers went to the pendant, and when he looked up at her face she had a tender smile on her face. “You haven’t heard the story, I take it?”

“No?”

“I’ll tell him the story. You bring us some whiskey,” said Denny, and she turned her smile to him. “We’re here to celebrate Ned’s maiden voyage to Westport.”

“A fine reason to celebrate,” Brandy said. She looked past them, then, through the window, and her expression got a little far-off, like she wasn’t really looking at the harbor or the Stormwall, but at something in her own head. “You do that, Denny. Tell him my story.”

“And you’ll give me a kiss?”

“You know I won’t,” she said, but her voice was fond, and the smile was still on her face as she headed back to the bar.

“I wouldn’t mind a kiss from her,” said Ned fervently.

Denny chuckled. “Lad, you may be better looking than this grizzled old man, but you won’t get it, neither. She’s promised to another, and I can tell you, no sweet talk will get her to forswear him.”

“Promised? To who?”

“A sailor, she says. Seven years ago, we had a bad spate of westerstorms in the late summer, and only a few ships even went as far as Copper Bay. The _Percy_ didn’t even go past Lodenisle, ‘cause Cap reckoned it was too risky. But one ship’s captain was willing to take the chance.” He shook his head. “Turned out it was a bad one. Westerstorm went straight for it, tore it apart. Just one man managed to get away in one of the ship’s boats, but to hear Brandy tell it, the boat barely made it to shore, and he wasn’t in much better shape himself. So she nursed him back to health, and they fell in love. He’d had a little pouch of ‘glass he’d collected. Gave her that piece she wears – must be worth a fortune, though she refuses to sell it.”

Ned whistled. The price on that little spiral of westerglass in the curio shop had been more than a hard-working man could earn in two years, and the one on Brandy’s chain was finer by far. “So where’s he now? This sailor?”

“I imagine he’s sailing. Since he ain’t here.” Denny must have seen Ned’s outrage in his face, for he gave him a sad sort of smile. “You’re thinking that he’s a crazy man, choosing the sea over a woman like Brandy. Maybe you’re right. But maybe you just haven’t been sailing enough to have it seep into your bones.” He leaned forward. “I’ve tumbled some women in my day, lad. And the next morning I looked at them, and thought, well, maybe...and then I looked out at the sea, and I tipped my cap and said farewell.”

Ned looked out at the sea. The Stormwall seemed to have darkened since they’d sat down, though maybe that was because it was getting on toward evening and the sun was well behind the clouds. The white froth of water at its base had become even livelier, sending spray high into the air, and a westerstorm spun northward along its length. It was scary, not enticing; but he remembered how beautiful the sea had been when the _Perseverance_ had made that exciting turn to the west, toward the archipelago, and he supposed he knew a little of that feeling. 

“Mind you,” continued Denny, “I wouldn’t mind a tumble with her – and Brandy, she’d be a woman worth swallowing the anchor for. But I reckon this sailor of hers don’t seem to think so.”

“You know him? You’ve met him?”

Denny shook his head. “Not that I know. Though if I ever did meet him, I’d give him an earful. That woman don’t deserve to be left lonely.”

Just then, Brandy appeared with their drinks. “Here you go, boys,” she said, placing the glasses in front of them.

“Denny told me,” Ned said as he took his glass from her. “So, which ship is he on? I guess you see him only two, three times a year?” The _Perseverance_ made the run out to Westport once each spring, summer, and fall, returning to its home port on the mainland each time. But some archipelago ships went farther east, or south across the sea, and only went out to the Sunset Isles once or twice in a year.

She smiled sadly at him. “It’s been seven years.”

“You mean he’s not come back to Westport in all that time?”

“He doesn’t sail the Sunset Isles, not these days. But he’ll be back.”

“You always say that, Brandy,” said Denny as he took a drink. “Damn, that’s some fine whiskey.”

“He’s an honest man. He told me he’ll come back.” She sounded confident, but her eyes were wistful. Ned wanted to wipe that look from her face. If he were the one she loved, he wouldn’t leave. As much as he loved sailing, he could love her more, he was sure of it.

A shout from another table made them all look up. “The ‘wall! Look at the ‘wall!”

Ned turned to look out the window. The raging maelstrom that was the Stormwall was lit from within with an unearthly light, turning the gray and purple clouds a jaundiced yellow. No, not from within – from _behind_ , he realized. The light came from the westering sun, shining through the shifting, thinning clouds. 

And then the wall parted. But the gap was not empty. A tall, dark, ship, of a type Ned had never seen, came racing through. Its sails were set wing-on-wing to catch the westerly wind, and behind it came two others of the same strange design. 

Denny slapped some money on the table. “Drink up, lad. We’d better go back to the _Percy_.”

Ned drained his glass and stood. It was hard to tear his gaze away from the window, from the whirling clouds of the Stormwall and the oncoming ships. He wanted to stay there and watch, but he knew Denny was right. The room was in chaos, with some men crowding at the window, others jostling each other in their hurry to leave. Brandy was staring out the window, too, her expression unreadable. “Yes,” she murmured. “You boys get back to your ships.”

They joined the swarm of men pouring out of the Looking Glass, heading for the docks and the beaches. By the time Ned and Denny got to the beach, the ship’s boat that had brought them to shore was already underway, carrying other men back to the ship. They could only wait until it returned, and stare out to sea, watching the dark ships that had come through the gap in the Stormwall.

Other men gathered on the beach, waiting for their own ship’s boats. “Do you think they’re warships?” one asked.

“If they’re warships, we don’t have a chance,” said Denny grimly. “Nobody here but merchants and traders.”

“Where are they coming from?” asked Ned. Nobody answered. It was both obvious and unanswerable; the ships were coming from the west, from beyond the Stormwall, but that was a land shrouded in mystery, a place nobody had ever been.

Inexorably, the dark ships advanced. The ship in the lead was huge, and as it drew closer its flag at the masthead became clearer, a blue and black banner with a sinuous strip of white across it. The white curves almost looked like writing, thought Ned – and then he remembered the silver pattern on the strange piece of westerglass hanging from the chain around Brandy’s neck.

“Brandy!” one of the sailors cried, and at first Ned thought he’d read his mind, or maybe just come to the same conclusion – but then he heard more shouts, and saw the other sailors turning to look back toward town, and he, too, looked back toward the town. There was Brandy, walking toward the harbor. The crowd of sailors parted to let her pass. Her face was shining.

“What’s going on, Brandy?” demanded one of the sailors.

“He’s coming back to me,” she said simply. 

A murmur passed through the crowd. Some craned their necks to better see the approaching ships; others leaned closer to Brandy, asking urgent questions: what was their intent, did she know? Were they here to trade, or to conquer? How would they get back when the Stormwall closed?

Ned was close enough to Brandy to ask his own question. “But how’d he get here in the first place?”

“Why, he washed up on the shore, just like in the story.” Brandy turned, and smiled at him; _really_ smiled, like she was seeing him, Ned, and not just some sailor who wanted a drink or a kiss. “Of course, what I never told anyone was that his boat wasn’t like any ship’s boat I’d seen before. It had a sort of framework of whalebone over it, covered by a tough skin that wrapped around it, so it was like a little nut bobbing on the waves. It was battered and storm-tossed, but he survived, and I helped him repair it so he could return to his own sea – as long as he promised to come back.”

“But how did it get through the ‘wall?” someone asked.

“He didn’t go through the ‘wall,” she said. “He went under it.”

Under the Stormwall! Ned marveled at the thought. It must have been a stoutly-constructed boat indeed, to make it through deep underwater – through and back again. And what a brave man this sailor of Brandy’s must be, to have entrusted his life to such a thing! 

The lead ship, having threaded its way through the anchored ships, dropped its own anchor; Ned could see men working the windlass and bringing in the sails, tall, dark men with close-cropped hair, and, he realized, vaguely shocked, women as well, hauling on lines next to the men. A boat emerged from behind the ship – they must have dropped it from its davits while it was anchoring, Ned realized. It skimmed across the harbor, with six men – no, four men and two women – on the oars, and ground to a halt in the sand in front of Brandy.

The sailors on the beach fell silent. One of the men jumped lightly out of the boat; he was tall and well-muscled, and the silver earring in his ear bore a faceted westerglass gem. 

Brandy ran toward the boat, and the man strode forward, wrapped his arms around her, and whirled her around, whipping her braid behind her. “You waited for me,” he said. His accent was strange, but Ned could hear the affection in his voice.

“I did,” she said. “And you came back for me.”

“So if you came back for Brandy,” said one of the sailors, “what about the others?” He waved toward the other dark ships.

The man laughed. “We are sailors, are we not? Always looking to the horizon and wondering what lies beyond. After I came here, I told my friends that there is much on this side of the wall of clouds to see. New goods to trade for, other islands to explore. We sailors love the sea – but there are many different seas, and they will stay to sail this one.” He turned to Brandy. “As for me, I have come to take you back to my home. Are you ready to voyage with me beyond the clouds, to my sea and my islands?”

Brandy smiled, and her face was as luminous as the westerglass on her silver chain. “I’ve been ready for seven years.” 

They turned toward the boat. “Wait!” stammered Ned, and they paused and looked back at him. “I want to come with you. Can I come with you?”

“You wouldn’t be able to come back,” said Brandy. 

“I know! But – but I’m a sailor, like he said. Looking to the horizon and wondering.” He looked past them, at the gap in the clouds and the mysteries beyond. “I want to see it for myself.”

The man bent to whisper something to Brandy, and she murmured something back to him. Then he straightened. “Maybe someday you will,” he said. “But not this day.”

“Someday? How long will that hole in the Stormwall last?”

“It will close within hours. So we leave now.” He and Brandy started toward the boat.

“Then I guess I’ll never sail beyond the ‘wall,” muttered Ned. “Can’t wait another two hundred years.”

Brandy paused and looked over her shoulder. “Maybe not. But if you find a way, we’ll greet you as an old friend.”

“Ah, Ned,” said Denny, coming up from behind and clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve got a good place on the _Perseverance_ , and there’s much you haven’t yet seen in our own sea.” 

Ned nodded. But as he watched the boat taking Brandy to the dark ship, he was thinking about what he’d need to do to build his own boat. A framework of whalebone, she’d said, and a tough skin to wrap around it to keep the water out. He’d have to figure out how to make it sink beneath the surface, and rise again, and how to propel it, and how to stay safe from the westerstorms. 

After a few more voyages on the _Percy_ , he’d have seen enough, and learned enough, to begin. And then he, too, would sail beyond the Sunset Isles.

**Author's Note:**

> Some worldbuilding elements have been borrowed from the second book in Ken Liu's Dandelion Dynasty series, _The Wall of Storms_. 
> 
> Thanks to Morbane for beta reading.


End file.
